


Double Entendre

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-20
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7472205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misunderstandings and angst and woe and... well, you have to read to find out, don't you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I can’t stand this_. Billy thinks it, and then he says it out loud. “I can’t stand this.”

Luckily he says it low, and the bar is so loud and crowded and throbbing with music that even Astin, sitting right beside him, couldn’t possibly have heard him. “What?” he shouts.

“I have to piss!” Billy yells back, and he gets up from his barstool and pushes his way through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor to the toilet, edging around by the wall so he won’t have to look at the thing he can’t stand to look at.

 _Thank god I’m a man_ , he thinks briefly as he sees the line for the ladies’. He slinks past the chattering or silent girls, nodding at the elves and hobbits and crew members who are in line, to stand outside the gents’, where he only has to wait about 45 seconds for the door to open.

Inside, he sits on the toilet seat, pants securely zipped and buttoned, and rests his face in his hands. His hands are cold, pleasant against his hot cheeks. He pushes his palms back along his cheekbones, stretching his face into an exaggerated grimace, then relaxes again, eyes shut within the cup of his fingers.

“This is ridiculous.” Here in the bathroom he can hear his own voice, dull and odd over the muffled pounding of the music outside, but there’s no one to answer. Which is good, because he’s too old for this shite. Too old to be jealous over some beautiful child. Who is always hanging all over the other, even more beautiful, child. Both of whom are his cast mates, which is a recipe for trouble if ever there was one. Neither of whom has shown any interest in him other than as a friend, and he doesn’t want to screw that up, either. So he should just keep his fucking pants zipped and his rougher thoughts to himself and forget forget forget any ideas otherwise.

Forget. And what’s the quickest way to do that? Get trollied, smashed, pissed, trousered, lit, loaded. Billy lifts his head. The eve of a two-day filming break, plenty of time to get a massive drunk on and be recovered enough to look like fresh-faced little Pippin when the cameras start rolling again. Plenty of time to drown his desire.

His barstool next to Astin is still, miraculously, empty. Sean pats the seat and Billy slides into it, gesturing to the bartender. “Double, scotch,” he says laconically. He feels Sean’s warm, heavy arm land on his shoulder.

“So you’ve decided to join the rest of us in the land of inebriation,” Sean says loudly, and he likes the sound of it, because he repeats it, putting on a game-show host voice: “The Land of Inebriation.” 

“Looks like you’ve elected yourself king,” Billy replies, half-smile uncomfortable on his face. He is _not_ going to turn around and look at the dance floor, he is _not_ going to watch Elijah hanging all over Dom and Dom hanging all over Elijah.

“I am king by right and proclamation,” Sean intones. He waits for Billy’s scotch to arrive, and they toast one another. “Cheers,” Astin says, and takes a(nother) swig of his beer. Billy raises his glass to him and then drinks most of it. Far too fast, this is decent whiskey, not some piss that should be knocked back like Schnapps. But Billy has a goal, so he pours the scotch down his throat, making a face at the hard burn of it, and gestures to the bartender again, holding up two fingers. 

“Man on a mission, I like that,” Sean says. “What shall we toast this time?”

“Obliteration,” Billy says, and Sean yells “Obliteration!” as he swallows the last of his beer. This time the liquor doesn’t hurt so bad on the way down, and Billy feels the spreading warmth of it, pooling in his stomach, beginning to sear its slow way through his limbs.

“Another beer?” he asks Sean, liking him more tonight than he has in a while; pompous, sweet Sean, always taking care of everyone. If only Astin wasn’t straight, maybe he could get him and Elijah together, and keep Dom for himself... No, wouldn’t be okay, because Sean is straight, right, yes. Oh, and married, and a father. Definitely not okay.

“Yes,” and Sean calls for another beer and another double for Billy.

“Where’s Chris?” Billy asks as they wait for their drinks.

“She and Allie went back to L.A. for two weeks, I told you that, you moron.” Sean would never call Billy a moron if he wasn’t pissed to the gills, he’s too nice, much too considerate. Both men are silent, Sean with his face buried in his glass, Billy drifting, trying to follow the progress of the scotch through his body.

“Poor Seanie, all alone,” Billy says when the drinks arrive, some neuron tripped, reminding him of what they were saying a few minutes ago, and this time he doesn’t slug back the drink in a few hot swallows; he takes a large gulp, yes, but not the whole thing. Sean is looking at him, disappointed. “What?”

“You didn’t name a toast.”

“Oh. Sorry. Your turn, any road.” Billy holds his glass up, turning toward Sean.

“Oh, me?” Billy wonders just how many beers Sean has had as he watches the brow furrow with thought, then clear. “ _I_ know, _I_ know. To friends, who take the place of lovers.” He suddenly yanks his glass back before it can clank with Billy’s, and leans forward anxiously. “You know what I mean, right? Not, take the _place_ of, just, you know—are there to be with, hang with.”

Billy’s mouth falls open, then he nods kindly. “I know, Seanie, I know. To friends.” Their glasses clink and they both drink. “You’re not really my type, anyway.” He pats Sean’s leg.

“It’s because I’m fat,” Sean says morosely, and Billy has to close his eyes for a minute to keep himself from slamming his own forehead down on the edge of the bar. Pompous, sweet, insecure Sean. God, Billy loves him.

“No, I never did mind a bit o’ padding on a lad,” Billy says, his accent growing thicker by the minute as the liquor permeates his bloodstream. “S’just—y’know. Y’r straight, Seanie. F’you weren’t... well.” He smiles cheerfully at him. “I’d find you qui’ attractive.” Sean _isn’t_ really Billy’s type, since Billy likes men who are lean and hard and bad, but Sean’s attractive, and that’s what he needs to hear, so. It does not, at this point, enter Billy’s head that the whole conversation might be considered a bit strange, if not downright surreal, without the help of the tea-colored alcohol bubbling merrily away in his system.

Sean looks more cheerful. “Thanks, Bills.” He slugs back another quarter of his beer. “Why are you alone tonight? Hanging out with the drunk married guy...” he gestures vaguely, and Billy ducks.

“I cannae have what I want.” Billy nods solemnly.

“What do yeh—you—want?” Sean leans toward him, all concerned brown eyes and sympathetic head-tilt.

Billy turns on his stool to look at the dance floor, and Sean follows his lead. Dom and Elijah are still at it, moving gracefully around one another. Dom reaches above his head with both arms, revealing a stretch of flat damp skin and his navel, and Billy yearns toward him until he nearly falls off his barstool. Then Elijah does something silly and funky, some white-boy move that takes his head down near Dom’s bare stomach, and Dom pushes his hips at him, and Elijah grins up at him, tousled and sweaty and young, and Billy turns away again, feeling sad and old and jealous, goddammit, _jealous_.

“Oh.” Sean faces the bar again, too, and both men lean over their glasses, letting the music and flickering lights wash over them.

“Yeah, I know. It’s pathetic. But. Shite. I can hardly help m’self.” Billy knocks back his whiskey and waves for another one, which he drinks quickly. _You are going to pay so hard for this_ , his sister’s voice smirks in his head. “Fuck off, Margo,” he says out loud, and Sean peers at him.

“He _is_ beautiful,” Sean says, drinking the last bit of his beer. When the replacement comes he doesn’t call for a toast, just hunches there next to Billy for a while. Billy stops thinking, presses the tip of his finger to the sticky bar surface, pulls it away. The tacky feeling of separation is interesting. He does it again. Stick. Stick. Stick. “Why him?” Sean says finally.

“I dunno.” Billy sips the scotch, which has no taste at all anymore. “Always had a weakness for blue eyes, I guess, and skinny men... some skinny men,” he adds hastily, but Astin appears to have forgotten his own quest for Billy’s admiration, he’s nodding seriously. “And we get along so well, doan we? Always able to joke, always able to talk.”

“You should tell him,” Sean says suddenly, long after Billy’s voice has trailed into nothing, overwhelmed by the noise and darkness around them.

“I cannae tell him, y’great stupid git. I’m too old for him, and he’s no’ interested in me that way. I won’t put m’self out to be stepped on.” Another sip of tasteless liquid. A swallow, a large swallow.

“He should know,” Sean insists stubbornly. “Sure, he’s young, but he’s an adult. You unnerestimate him.” He pronounces the word carefully, enunciating each syllable.

“No.” Billy says it stubbornly, and he would shake his head but that seems like a bad idea, so he just repeats it: “No.” 

“Billy, don’t be such a—”

They’re interrupted, a typhoon of sweaty young male flesh slamming into their space. Dom and Elijah, breathless and hyper as usual. “How you fellas doing?” Dom says, as Elijah says, “C’mon, come and dance, guys, this is great!”

“Fuck off,” Billy says, and Dom picks up his glass and sniffs it. 

“Fuck, Billy, I thought you were supposed to be the designated driver tonight.” He doesn’t sound angry, though, just amused. 

“I’ll pay for a cab,” Billy mumbles, not looking up, not daring to look up. Elijah is hanging over Sean, arms slung about him, gleaming face grinning over his shoulder.

“How many have you had, Sean?” he asks, and Sean holds up four fingers, considers this, makes it six.

“No need for a cab,” Dom says. “I’ll take you home. I want to surf this weekend, and if you keep drinking you won’t be catching anything but porcelain tomorrow.” His smile is wide and bright; oblivious, dammit, and Billy wants to lean toward Dom’s sharp-edged smile, but he doesn’t. Just nods.

“Fine. I’ll get Sean home, too, then.” Elijah pulls back, braces Sean as he staggers off the stool and drapes Sean’s arm over his shoulder. “Let’s go, you big wanker.” As always, the word sounds bizarre coming from Elijah’s mouth, and Dom grins at Billy, hoping to share the joke.

But Billy doesn’t feel like joking, he feels like holding Dom’s head still (by the ears, if necessary) to push his tongue into that grin, open Dom, break him apart, devour him and steal his taste, his breath, his sweat... And since he can’t do that, Billy just stands up, one hand on the barstool until the floor steadies beneath him, scowling down at the gently rocking wood under his trainers.

Dom shoots Elijah a look (Billy sees it, scowl getting blacker by the second) and wraps one arm around Billy’s waist. “Let’s go, my wee Scottish friend, home to beddy-bye and water and aspirin.”

Billy goes along with it, because he is hypnotized by Dom’s arm across the small of his back, and his hand, firm on Billy’s hip. He leans against him and they follow Sean and Elijah out of the club.

Dom buckles Billy in and stands outside the car talking to Elijah for a moment. Billy can’t really hear them—the night air is cold and the silence seems to have deafened him after the ear-splitting volume of the club. He stares at the strange patterns of the stars outside the window (his head seems to have fallen to one side), and listens from somewhere far away: “Pissed... home... to bed... in the morning... call.” Then Sean and Elijah are weaving across the parking lot to Elwood’s car. Billy can hear Sean’s voice start up, unintelligible, too loud; one arm (the one not around Elijah) gesturing broadly. Then Dom’s in the car and they’re moving.

He doesn’t have much memory of the drive home, although he vaguely recalls stopping and standing outside the car, one hand braced on the passenger’s side mirror, peeing and peeing and peeing for about four minutes. Then zipping up (four more minutes), then back in the car. His little house, and Dom half-carrying him in. Gentle hands, and himself murmuring something stupid (and luckily unintelligible). Dom makes him drink water, and pee again, and take aspirin, and then Dom tucks him into bed, pats his head, and takes himself away home.

He’s gone before Billy can ask him to stay, but only because the impulse to speak takes a light year to get from Billy’s brain to his mouth. “I cannae stand this,” Billy says aloud, into his dark bedroom, just after the word “Stay” is interrupted by the click of the closing door.

_Ah well. The hangover ought to kill this memory _, Billy thinks as he falls asleep. _And good riddance_.__

__

____

*

Why? Why why why is someone knocking so loudly at the door? “Shuddup,” Billy mumbles, but the knocking goes on, so after a while he drags his sorry ass out of the bed ( _ohhhh fuck_ he moans) and staggers to the front door. The light outside assaults his head like a pissed off Man U supporter after losing the World Cup, and Billy can’t really see who it is.

But he can hear, and smell, and it’s Elijah, Elijah-fucking-Wood, “Hey Billy, you look like shit, man,” pushing in the door, dropping his half-smoked clove cigarette on Billy’s porch, swinging a carrier bag (rustling far too noisily) in his hand, closing the door behind him as though he might be staying for a while. 

“Get out,” Billy says clearly, trying to open the door, but Elijah has one of his arms, is dragging him into the house, pushing him onto the sofa. Billy sits there for a minute, watching through squinty, bloodshot eyes as Elijah saunters into the kitchen. Billy can hear him moving around in there, but he closes his eyes (there’s too much fucking light, why can’t it be a cloudy day for chrissakes?) and topples sideways so he’s lying uncomfortably against the arm of the couch, feet still flat on the floor. 

“Don’t go to sleep like that,” Elijah says, and Billy feels the couch beside him dip. “You’ll get a pain in your neck.”

“You’re a pain in my neck,” Billy replies automatically, and he means it, he really does. “Listen, Elwood, you know I love you, but could you please just piss off? That’s a good boy.”

“C’mon.” Elijah pokes and prods him until he’s sitting up again. Puts a glass of water into his hands, gives him two aspirin tablets. Makes him drink the rest of the water, and then hands him a bottle of some electrolyte-crap and disappears into the kitchen again. “I’m gonna make you some really greasy hangover food, settle your stomach,” Elijah calls, and Billy grunts. Soon his kitchen radio is playing the Stone Roses (not too loud, thank fucking god), and Billy’s drinking the radioactive green juice in small, careful sips.

When the smell of eggs and cheese and sausage and potatoes floats past his nose, though, Billy sighs. He wriggles a little, thinks about it, stands up. Wanders into his kitchen. “What time is it?”

Elijah looks so domestic. He’s standing over a pan full of sizzling food. “’Bout one,” he says. “How ya feeling?”

“Enh. Okay. I might live.” Billy looks thoughtfully at Elijah. He can see why Dom likes him. He’s too pretty for words, with his big blue eyes and smooth white skin. Elijah trying to look grungy is more adorable than anything else, because Elijah was given, by nature, glowing skin and long eyelashes and thin, delicate hands. No matter how badly he abuses his hair or tries to grow a beard or chews his nails (and he really can’t help that last one), he looks cherubic. “What’re you making?” Billy wishes he could hate him, but Elijah has a cheerfulness about him that matches his sweet looks. He likes people to be happy, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make them that way.

Which explains why he’s here, cooking, when he could be somewhere else. _With Dom_. Billy quashes the thought. It’s useless. It just hurts. Billy rubs his eyes fretfully.

“This is a good hangover breakfast.” Elijah pokes at the mess in the skillet. “I wish I could make you Tex-Mex, but I don’t know how, and I don’t know where I’d get the stuff here anyway. That’s some great hangover food.” He lifts the pan, dumps everything equally onto two plates. 

He and Billy sit at the kitchen bar and eat. They talk about hangover foods. “Lemon juice and honey,” Billy tells Elijah. 

“Cheese fries at Shady Grove,” apparently a restaurant in Austin. “With bacon bits and jalapeños on ’em.”

“A hot dog with mayonnaise and chopped up peppers and tomatoes.”

“More alcohol.”

That takes them through breakfast, and by the time it’s over, Billy’s feeling human. He heads to the bathroom, where he brushes his teeth and washes his face. More deodorant? Yes, that ought to do the trick. Then a clean t-shirt and back to the living room, where he expects Elijah’s waiting to take him to surf. His wetsuit? In the car. All right. 

But in the living room Elijah shows no signs of leaving. He is slouched on the couch, chewing on his thumbnail, and when Billy comes in his smile looks a bit strained. 

“Are we still going surfing?” Billy hovers uncertainly.

“Yeah, later. Sit down, Bills.” Elijah pats the couch beside him, and Billy obeys, wondering what’s going on. He’s sure Elijah has no idea Billy likes his boyfriend—he’s too old and wily to have shown it, he’s sure. Reasonably sure. Pretty sure.

Unless... unless Astin said something. _Fuck_. Billy cocks his head at Elijah, keeping his face cheerfully neutral, but a sudden lurch in his stomach tells him his intuition is right on. That’s just the kind of half-arsed royally stupid thing Astin would do. _Fuckfuckfuck_.

“What’s up?” Billy forces himself to ask.

“So Billy, Sean was pretty drunk last night, too.”

“Yeah.” _Fuck_.

“And he was talking, rambling on, and he seemed to believe... he seemed pretty sure that you, that you,” Elijah’s stumbling, but he’ll get there, “that you have, feelings. Like, romantic feelings, for—”

“Shut up, Lijah.”

“No, hey, Billy, it’s okay, let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Billy.” Elijah’s exasperated, and Billy hates to rain on his little parade but he’s not going to talk about this with him, there’s a list of people Billy doesn’t want to talk about this with, and Elijah is right up at the top of that list. 

“No, no way, Im not talking about this.”

“But you do have... feelings?”

Billy looks away, furious with himself for reddening. “Yes, all right. Yes. But it’s just stupid, I realize that, I realize it’s not possible.”

“But we still need to talk about it.” Elijah is sincere, all glowing concerned sweetness, and Billy resists the urge to give him a black eye. Pete would kill Billy. And Elijah did not say, _Of course it’s possible, why wouldn’t it be possible_ , so now it’s been laid out for him—he suspected Dom and Elijah were a couple before, now he’s been _told_. “I don’t want this to screw up our friendship, Bills. It’s important to me.”

Billy scrubs his face with his hands, hard. “It won’t, okay, Elijah? Our friendship is more important, and we all have to work together, too. So don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything so dramatic as to make a scene, or pine, or anything. It’s just a crush.” He smiles at Elijah, a little, just a small quirk to let him know it’s all right. Because it will be. Billy guesses. Eventually. “Just because I like the fellows doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.”

“We’ll leave that to Orli,” Elijah smirks, and Billy grins. 

“Exactly. Hey, why didn’t he come to the bar last night?”

A shadow flits over Elijah’s face. “Oh, you know. Off being his royal highness. Something.”

Billy snorts. “Poofter.”

Elijah rolls his eyes. “You have no idea.” He stands up. “So listen, Billy... I gotta go. I need to go get my wetsuit from Orli’s house, and then we were thinking, Sean and Dom and I, maybe we could go out about four-thirty? That work? We can pick you up.”

“Yeah.” Billy stands up, too, and walks Elijah to the door. “Listen, Lij...” Billy feels awkward as hell. “Thanks. For breakfast and... y’know.” _Just shut up now_ , but he hears himself going on: “Sorry if I act like a shitheel sometimes, but. I’m fine. It’s just a crush. It’ll pass.”

“Hey, Billy, no worries, mate.” Elijah touches his arm gently, peers out into the bright day. “If things were different...” He smiles at Billy and very quickly, almost sneakily, leans to peck his cheek.

“I—” Billy shudders at the rage that washes over him, turning his face red. He makes an effort, keeps his hands at his side. “Don’t do that, please.” His voice is quiet, polite, deadly. He shuts the door between them and leans against it. After a long time he hears Elijah’s footsteps move away, hears his car start, hears him drive away.

And then Billy can turn around and smash his fist into the wall beside the door, so hard it breaks the skin over his knuckles, so hard he leaves a deep dent in the plaster.


	2. Chapter 2

An hour later Billy’s sitting at the kitchen counter again, drinking water, pretending to read the newspaper. Doesn’t know if anyone will pick him up at four-thirty, doesn’t know if he can stand to go. The rage was transitory—Elijah didn’t know, couldn’t know what that little affectionate kiss had meant, what it had done to Billy. So. And Elijah isn’t stupid, he’d have seen the menace in Billy’s face, heard it in his voice. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, Billy’s screwed things up impressively, most probably, and he just hopes Elijah won’t mention it to Dom, will forgive him, pretend he didn’t see it.

Knocking. Billy glances at the clock on the range. It’s only three-fifteen, too early to be his cast mates, unless it is Elijah, back to talk things to death. Or fucking Sean, who really _does_ deserve a black eye, and Billy might give it to him except that his hand hurts, his knuckles still ache. He sighs, goes to answer the door.

It’s Dom.

“Jesus Christ, Boyd, what the fuck is the matter with you?” He pushes his way in, just as Elijah did earlier. _A match made in heaven_ , Billy thinks irritably. “You’re such a fucking wanker. Did the liquor do it to you, last night, or is this a lifelong thing for you? I have to admit, I never saw it before, but hey, it’s been one surprise after another for the last few hours.” He’s pacing around the light-filled living room, waving his arms.

Billy closes the door, leans back against it. Dom. Goddamn, Billy could kill him, or kiss him. He’s stayed away from face-to-face, one-on-one Dom recently, except for the car ride last night, without being too obvious about it. Ever since he figured out Dom and Elijah seemed to really be bonding. It’s just too hard. Because Billy really _does_ want Dom, both in a pathetic, embarrassing, make-him-dinner-and-take-a-shower-together kind of way, and also in a much more immediate, real, slam-him-against-the-wall-and-fuck-him-till-he-whimpers kind of way. 

“You know you scared Elijah half to death, you arsewipe.” Dom shoots a glare at him. “He said you looked like you were about to fucking coldcock him.” His eyes ( _grey today_ , Billy notices through his building frustration, anger, fury, _the blue’s all covered up_ ) light on Billy’s lacerated knuckles. “What’d you do?” Dom waves his hands wildly. “I don’t want to know. You know, if you had this problem, why didn’t you come talk to me? Why _Astin?_ Jesus Christ, you know he couldn’t keep his mouth shut with a nail gun and roll of packing tape. You might as well go talk to _Orli_ , for fuck’s sake.” He stops pacing in front of Billy, looks at his face. “You know you should have talked to me, Bill. Astin doesn’t even know what the hell is going on.”

“What the hell _is_ going on?” Billy practically shouts it, right into Dom’s face, feeling his control shredding. “I don’t _want_ to talk to Orli about this. I didn’t _really_ want to talk to Sean about this. I _sure_ as hell didn’t want to talk to _Elijah_ about this.” He hisses the name. “And the _last_ person in the entire fucking universe that I want to talk about this with is you, _Dominic. Fucking. Monaghan._ ” He’s shaking, can feel it, feel the poison in him. 

“Goddamn, Billy, why are you so angry?”

The question stops Billy cold. Not just the question, but the complete, utter lack of comprehension on Dom’s face. Dom doesn’t _get_ it—isn’t deeply angry at Billy, except for the (legitimate, Billy admits) anger about how he sent Elijah away. The rest is blustering, noise, Domishness. Billy feels like he was going up stairs and reached for the top step and it wasn’t there—that jarring sensation of being off-balance. The knowledge that he missed out on something, somewhere along the way. So Billy can’t talk for a minute, he just stands there, his mouth open at Dom, breathing hard.

“I don’t know.”

Dom’s eyebrows come down, and he’s looking at Billy with concern. “Bills, mate. What’s up?” He grasps Billy’s arm and leads him to the couch. “Tell your Dommie all about it.”

“But you’re not my Dommie,” Billy says helplessly, slumping beside him. “You know, I feel like shit, this isn’t your problem, yoursandElijah’s, it’s mine, and I fucking hate all this drama—”

“What do you mean, mine and Elijah’s?” Again, that blank look. “Sean said you looked like your puppy had died last night, and then you started talking about Elijah...”

Billy’s turn for a blank look. “Elijah?”

“Yeah, he said you were going on about skinny men and blue eyes—”

And the step is back, and Billy’s foot (metaphorically speaking anyway) is on it, but he isn’t balanced, no, not at all. In fact he feels like that particular step has launched him into some kind of sick-making freefall, not unlike bungee jumping. Without a cord, bungee or otherwise. He doesn’t think he’ll bounce back this time. He thinks he might splatter in a really unattractive way, and really soon, because he can see the jagged rocks down there, and so he does the only thing he can—he covers his eyes and he groans.

“What? Billy, what?”

“No. No, no, no, no... not. Didn’t. Did _not_.”

“Did not _what_? For chrissakes, Billy, how bad can it be?”

“Fuck. Dom, can you leave now, so I can hang m’self?”

Dom laughs, a little, strangled sort of laugh. “Bills, what’s going on?”

“Iwasn’ttalkingaboutElijah.” No point in delaying the inevitable crash. Get it over with. Better a quick death than this slow, drawn-out humiliation.

“You weren’t—then who—” The flat silence beside Billy tells him that Dom has it figured out, too, and damn, those rocks are close. And pointy, and sharp.

“Well,” Dom says, and Billy thinks maybe he hears amusement. He doesn’t blame Dom for being amused. The rocks are probably amused, too.

Billy nods. “Yeah.” His hands are still over his face.

“Hey, there, Billy.” Dom’s voice is very calm, and his hands are steady and warm, curving around Billy’s fingers, pulling them away from his face. “This is interesting.”

Billy blinks at him. “Doesn’t really change anything.”

Dom tilts his head. “I’d say it does.”

“Well, shite, Dommie, I think Lij’d have something to say about the whole fecked up mess, wouldn’t he?” And now Dom’s laughing, outright laughing at him. “What the _hell_?”

“Billy Boyd, you shouldn’t be allowed out of the house.” What _is_ that in Dom’s expression? Billy wishes he knew. Before he can say anything, Dom goes on. “You’re completely out of the loop. Really, seriously.” Dom looks condescending, and he’s obviously enjoying himself.

“Enlighten me, Monaghan.” Billy forces his voice to dryness. He feels like he’s created a new definition for _awkward_. Someday in the future, schoolchildren will read about this conversation when their teachers try to explain exactly how awkward an awkward situation can be. 

“Okay.” Dom sits back, comfortable. “First of all, Astin doesn’t know shit. He’s a sweetheart, but he doesn’t. Okay? He’s the only person _further_ out of the loop than you. Second off, Elijah and Orli are a bit of an item. On-again, off-again, and they’re all quiet about it—hush-hush, you know—so you can be excused not knowing. Although I thought you did—really, Bill, you’ve fallen way off in the observational skills.” He clicks his tongue, but Billy’s too distracted by following the logical chain of thoughts to swat him for it. “Third thing you should know is that I’m unattached. Free as a bird. Unfettered, allowed to act on whatever passing fancy should interest me.” He shifts slightly, pulling one leg up and facing Billy a bit more squarely on the couch. “Fourth thing you should know is that I have always. Fancied. Slightly older men.” He raises one eyebrow.

The rocks appear to have been replaced by marshmallows. Big fat soft ones. Maybe... maybe he’ll bounce? Billy still feels a little vertiginous, but it’s much less nauseating at the moment. “So. You and Elijah...?”

“The best of friends, mate.”

“And Lij and Orli...?”

“Never last, but they’ll make each other miserable for a while until they move on and get to be friends again.”

“And Sean...?”

“Idiot. Total wanker.”

Billy swallows, nods. “Um.” He’s staring at Dom, he realizes, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t stop. And Dom’s staring right back at him. “Wanna go surfing later?”

“No. Not really.”

“Me either.”

“’Kay.”

Both of them lunge forward at the same time, the result being their first kiss is much more like a car crash than an osculation. Billy’s fairly sure he tastes blood, but he doesn’t care, it seems much more important to latch his fingers into Dom’s shirtfront and try to push his tongue as deeply into Dom’s mouth as possible. In the meantime, Dom has his hands hard on Billy’s head, fingers pressing just at the base of his skull, sliding into his hair (Billy wishes it was a little longer, so Dom could get a really good grip), and his teeth and lips and tongue seem to have some urgent message to Billy, they’re gonna spell it out in messy, wet dots and dashes, S-O-S, right now, baby.

“God, unh—”

“Bills—”

Billy is pulling at Dom’s shirt, tugging at it, slipping his hands underneath to touch warm smooth skin. “Fuck,” he says, right into Dom’s mouth.

“Fuck, yeah,” Dom replies. Well, okay, Billy didn’t really mean it as an invitation, but he can live with that interpretation.

“Oughta—call ’em. Tell ’em.” Billy’s hard at work on Dom’s neck now, speaking between sucking, licking, kissing, Dom’s fingers flexing against his scalp. Dom tastes of salt and skin and maleness, clean water and sunlight. Good. _Delicious_. Billy scrambles forward a little further, gets into Dom’s lap, slides his tongue across his collarbone, up the strong column of his neck, to just below his ear. He’s straddling Dom, and he can feel his chest, the fabric bunched up under his armpits and across his front, which Billy’s hands are pressed against, spread over flat hard muscle, Dom’s nipples—god, his _nipples_ —pebbled and tight under the pads of his fingers. 

“’Kay. You call.” Dom slides his hands down Billy’s neck, back, arse. Goosebumps follow his hands, and Billy twitches and bites Dom’s earlobe.

“You.”

“You.”

“Fuck ’em, they’ll figure it out.”

“Christ, Billy—ohfuck—how long did it take for _you_ to— _unnnh_ —figure it out?”

Billy removes his hands from the front of Dom’s jeans. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll call.” He leans forward and Dom leans back and Billy plants his knees on either side of Dom’s hips, his hands on either side of his head. “I don’t want anyone. Interrupting us.” His face is intense, and he loves Dom’s shiver, the tiny nod.

“A’right.” Billy climbs off Dom (it feels like ripping off a bandage, it’s that hard to do) and goes into the kitchen, where his phone lives. He can’t see Dom from here. That’s probably good. Billy doesn’t want to call and say only, “Uhhhhh....”

Speed dial. Elijah’s voice. “Hello?”

“Hey, Lij, it’s Billy.”

“Billy—how are you?” Elijah’s voice is cautious, concerned.

“Listen,” Billy talks fast, “I’m fine, really. I’m really sorry about how I acted earlier. I think I’m gonna stay home, not really in the mood for surfing—” _I’m in the mood for Dom_ , his brain sings, ridiculously. “So, y’know, don’t pick me up.”

“Aww, Billy, it’s okay, come on, come surf with us. I talked to Orli, he’s coming too. And, and, I don’t want things to be bad.”

“Things aren’t bad.” Billy takes a deep breath. “Dom’s over here, talking some sense into me.” _Fuck yeah_. “We’re just going to hang out, you know—” _try and get to the other side of each other’s bodies, via osmosis_ — “watch some telly. Get drunk, naked orgy.” _Uh-huh_. “Etcetera.”

Elijah laughs, god bless the child, a tentative little laugh. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine, Lij. Listen, I gotta go, Dom’s handcuffed himself to my bed again. You know how it is.”

Another laugh. “Yeah, I know how it is.” _You_ don’t _know how it is, thank all the gods of potential disaster and missed opportunities caught at the last second_. “Tell him ‘hi’ for me. Maybe we can go out tomorrow for some waves.”

“Sure.” _If Dom and I can walk_. “Talk to you later.” _Maybe in a week. Which is the next time I’m going out of the house._

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Billy tosses the handset at the receiver, more out of habit than attention, and comes out of the kitchen at a run, intending to leap on Dom. Skids to a halt because Dom is not, in fact, on the couch. 

But his trousers are.

Folded neatly over the back. Shirt beside them. Trainers side by side on the floor, socks stuffed into them. Billy investigates. No pants. Which means that either Dom’s still wearing them or... he didn’t have any on.

Working fast and silently, Billy removes his own clothing. The cool air prickles all over his skin. He’s hard, so very hard, and once he’s naked he paces down the hall. He wants to play along, wants to sneak up on Dom and pounce on him, but on the other hand... _Screw this_ , Billy knows where he’ll be, and he can’t take any more suspense, frankly. “I’m coming for you, Dom.” And he pauses outside his bedroom door, which is half-closed.

“Soon enough.” Dom’s voice floats out to him, low and amused.

The bedroom’s dim, and Dom’s lounging on Billy’s bed. Naked. “Presume rather a lot, doncha, Monaghan?” Billy leans against the door frame.

Dom stretches out, folds his hands behind his head. “You might speak from a position of more strength if you weren’t naked,” he points out.

“Well. Yeah.” Billy launches himself across the room, lands on the bed (and incidentally Dom) with a whoop. “I’ll show you a position of strength,” he growls into Dom’s ear, and Dom laughs, and then they’re kissing again.

It’s hot and wet and urgent in just a very few seconds, the laughter in Dom’s mouth stilled (though it lurks in his eyes, is answered in Billy’s). _Naked Dom_... Billy doesn’t know what to concentrate on, the mouth he wants to bruise with kissing or the body his hands are exploring greedily. “Gonna lick every inch of you,” he mutters, and sets to work, tongue busy and nose pressing against warm slick flesh. Dom’s busy, too, hands sliding all over Billy, kneading, grasping, fingers digging in. Billy works his way down Dom’s chest to his belly—that same belly he was lusting after last night. And this time he can do just what he wants, he can circle Dom’s navel with his tongue, then lick his way gently down the line of hair below it, dark soft hair that leads to Dom’s cock...

“Fuck—Billy,” Dom gasps as Billy wets his lips and dives down.

 _We’ll get to that_ , Billy thinks as he slides his lips and teeth and tongue over Dom, because already he wants it, wants to feel Dom in him, fingers and tongue and cock, all of it, but not yet, first Billy’s gonna take him, take him so hard... He wants to tell him so, and doesn’t want Dom to come yet, so he gives his cock one more fierce suck (“Ohholy _ahhhh_ ”) and lets go, wriggling around and up to Dom’s face. “Dom, I’m gonna fuck you now,” he says, low and sweet, “gonna fuck you so hard you can’t walk. Wanna hear y’come, wanna come inside you...”

“Yeah, fuck yeah, Billy,” Dom’s eyes are glazed, he reaches down and grabs Billy’s cock, squeezes it tight and so hard Billy almost whimpers, “do it, do it...” Then his mouth is on Billy’s again, hands pulling at Billy’s hips so their erections grind together. Both of them are moaning. “Condom, condom,” Dom manages, and Billy can feel pre-come—his or Dom’s?—a sticky little smear across his thigh.

He rolls off Dom, gropes furiously in the bedside table. _Condoms, where the fuck—?_ Okay, got one, and lube, _that’s here too, might as well get it_ , because he plans to be balls deep in Dom in about one minute, tops...

Billy lies motionless on his back while Dom rolls the condom over his aching cock, trembling slightly, trying not to breathe so loudly. Dom’s face as he works is incredibly beautiful, downturned eyes, lashes like smudges against his cheekbones, crooked mouth open a little in concentration, nose and cheeks and ears and the back of his neck flushed with desire. Billy stares like a fool until Dom’s done, fingers pressing down along the latex, shaping Billy’s desire.

When he looks up his eyes meet Billy’s, and a smile plays around his lips. “Want you bad, Bills,” he murmurs, and Billy smiles back at him, pure happiness. He sits up, pushes Dom backward. He’s pliant, though his belly is taut and he’s under tight control, Billy can tell. They adjust one another with touches, pushes, caresses that turn into instructions, until Dom’s sitting back against the headboard, cushioned by pillows, and Billy kneels between his legs. Billy squeezes lube into his hand, leans forward.

He kisses Dom as his hand goes down, strokes over his own cock—always feels so weird, chilly jelly over the thin slick plastic of a condom—then smooths his hand between Dom’s legs, an affectionate slide over his cock—Dom’s mouth opens under his, a wordless sigh of pleasure that Billy swallows—then down. Dom’s balls tighten under his fingers, then loosen, and Billy’s fingers are circling Dom’s arsehole, small and puckered and tight with anticipation. “Give me a sec,” Dom murmurs, and Billy nods, little stutter of teeth and tongue over Dom’s, and slides one finger in. 

Dom stiffens a little under him. “Unh,” he breathes, and Billy pushes his tongue into Dom’s mouth just as he slides another finger in. _Push them in deep, twist, circle until you feel Dom shudder a little..._ Dom’s eyes close, he goes lax and open all at once, breath sighing out over Billy’s lips.

“Now, Dom,” Billy says, and it isn’t a request. Dom settles, Billy moves, lifts Dom’s legs and folds them back so he can kneel just where he wants to. Look down, one hand on his own cock to guide it, and slowly push in... _Don’t want to hurt him, but then again I do, goddamn I do_ , so Billy pushes a little more urgently. His reward is Dom’s eyes, smoky blue and grey, locked onto his, wide and intent. Billy can feel the mercy sliding from his own face, replaced by something hard and a little rough. “Dom,” he says.

“Billy,” Dom says, and it’s acquiescence. Billy begins to move, slow stuttering strokes at first, then faster, because it feels so good, yeah, getting slick and easy but still so tight. Dom’s eyes are closed, his mouth is open, and Billy loves this, loves seeing his face like this. “Harder,” Dom whispers, and already he can hardly get the word out because Billy’s thrusting so hard, but hell, Billy can oblige: Billy tenses his legs for purchase, leans forward a little (Dom’s cock grinds between their bellies and he groans “Ohfuckyeah, _Billy!_ ”) and really pounds into him.

“Dom, yeah Dom, Dom, fuck oh fuck...” it’s a litany, a little involuntary chant, “getting there, oh yeah, Dom, getting there...”

Dom’s breathing gets faster, his hands, which have been holding his thighs back, slip, flutter, move. His legs press against Billy’s chest suddenly, so Billy’s working harder, bracing himself against the big taut muscles of Dom’s thighs, Dom’s calves thrown over his shoulders. Dom’s hands slide over Billy’s stomach, down to his waist, around to Billy’s arse. He scrabbles for purchase and Billy thrusts forward, shifts again so Dom can clasp him suddenly, pull him forward.

Dom’s cock is ground between them and Billy feels Dom’s in-drawn breath before he hears it, locks his eyes on Dom’s face and when Dom comes it’s with a yell, mouth open, head back and body straining. He arches against Billy’s body for four long thrusts, then sags. “Come on, Billy, come on,” he moans, and the words release him, it’s Billy’s turn, Dom’s body so tight around his cock, stomach slick and sticky against Billy, _coming coming coming_ , no words left, just high hard sounds that he can hardly hear himself make over the roar of the blood in his ears, the shudder of pleasure through his limbs.

Dom’s legs are draped loosely around his waist, they slid down at some point, and Billy’s completely limp atop him, not trying to hold himself up at all. He can feel Dom’s chest moving up and down under his, smell sex and sweat and clean sheets where his nose is pressed into Dom’s shoulder. _Breathe, remember how to do that? Yeah._ Breathe.

Dom’s hands are sliding up and down his back after a while. “You’re heavy as hell, Bills,” his voice rumbles against Billy’s ribcage, and Billy makes a little effort, pushes himself up and off ( _ahhh_ , exhausted cock sliding out, sticky tacky slide of sweaty skin against sweaty skin).

Now that he isn’t ensconced completely in Dom—god, such pleasure, aftershocks of possibly the most intense sex he has had in years, if ever—Billy feels uncomfortable. Physically, anyway. He sits up with a groan and peels the used condom off, dropping it with a moue of distaste onto the bedside table.

Then he’s seized and rolled over by Dom, energetic Dom, who tackles him and grins wickedly down at him. “Damn, you’re mean,” he snickers.

“You loved it,” Billy replies stiffly, maintaining his supercilious expression with an effort as Dom bounces on him.

“Yes, I did!” Dom’s a mess: hair on end, lips deliciously swollen. There's a smacky _snick_ with every bounce, because they're practically glued together at the stomach with Dom’s come. 

All of which makes dignity difficult to maintain. “All right, then,” Billy says, and grabs Dom’s ears and kisses him soundly.

“Leggo my ears, you daft git,” Dom cries, but Billy doesn’t think he's serious. Partly because it has the sound of a ritual response, and partly because he then dives into Billy’s mouth like a dolphin, coming back up only when lack of oxygen absolutely demands it. 

Then he lies there and they grin at one another for a while.

“Well.” Billy stretches, arms and legs fully extended, head back, bones popping; then he contracts, curling around Dom like a spring, cradling him. “Shower?”

“Yeah.” Dom wriggles a little, rubbing himself against Billy. “We’re disgusting.”

“Mmm. At least _that’s_ the same.” Billy’s voice is dry, hiding an exultation he’s almost afraid to feel. _Even if nothing else is._

Dom levers himself off Billy, offers a hand and pulls him up. “You know, we could still meet the others at the beach,” he says as they pad into the bathroom. “Unless you have a better offer.”

Billy turns on the shower. “We could go to the beach for my offer. But the bed’s more comfortable.”

“For...?”

“For letting you bugger me senseless. I hate when I get sand in my knickers.”

The bathroom begins to fill with steam as Dom pushes Billy firmly back against the wall. “Can’t have that, now can we?” He kisses him, soft and hard and wet and hot. “Guess we’ll just have to stay here.”

“Mmm. Good choice.”

“Mmm-hmmm.”


End file.
